Sherlock and His Doctor
by luthien-yavetil
Summary: A Black Hole has caused the Doctor to arrive in an 'impossible' world, a world where fiction becomes reality... but not exactly. Thus he meets a modern Holmes, whose Watson has left him for a wife. A dark cloud shrouds this London... A new game's afoot!


'Ello there! I'm sure there've been countless crossovers about these two series at this point already, but hey, you can never have too many… right?

FIRST OF ALL, allow me to promote something. There's this auction thingie wherein people can commission someone to write/draw/etc. for them, and the money that comes out of it gets donated to a Japan Help Fund. I'm participating in it, and details are on my FF profile. Just saying, if ever I'm commissioned, the work I'll make will be much better than what you're reading right now, because this kind of FF I only do on a whim without much editing. Commissions… That's another story, haha.

OKAY, ENOUGH WITH THE A/N, TIME FOR SOME SHERLOCK WHO.

* * *

Traveling through time and space was considered, undisputedly, the most exhilarating experience _ever_ – planets, stars, strung all across the universe, just waiting to be discovered. There was beauty, excitement, indescribable realms just beyond the borders of fantasy… and the most terrible planets and entities you would never want, in your wildest dreams, to come across. It gave you the most spectacular feeling in existence…

Yet this time, the Doctor traveled alone.

He nonchalantly sniffed his nose a bit, circling and twiddling the controls of his Time And Relative Dimension In Space machine, not very sure what he was doing. It was something he always did whenever a crisis wasn't calling – fiddled around, looked for new sights to see. The only way to do it was to mess around, get _lost. _After all, one can't get to someplace new if you already knew _how _to get there.

Suddenly, the TARDIS started to tremor. Aghast, the Doctor slapped the base of a joystick, hunched over the viewing panels.

"No… No, no… No, no, no, no, no – _no!" _

He dashed around like a madman, flicked switches, pulled levers. But the TARDIS continued to rumble, more violently at each passing moment. Eventually it got so bad that even the Doctor had to collapse on his favorite rolling chair and bring his hands to his head. But not before he set the brakes on the chair first – no telling when the TARDIS might start rocking, and that would just make him go all over the place.

But a few minutes later, the machine stopped, as if nothing happened. Slowly, the Doctor rose to his feet, wary of anything. His limbs were intact – that was good. And the TARDIS looked alright, not too worse for the wear…

And then the power failed.

"Aw, great! This is just – oh, honestly, _really!" _the Doctor cried, hurrying back to the controls to survey the damage. He fumbled for his sonic screwdriver, found it, and started flashing it over the main gears.

"You've got to be kidding me…" he mumbled to himself. "Bit of juice there, yeah…? Aha, you're still alive. That's the ticket, you wonderful old thing, you!"

He straightened up, glancing up and down the central panel, and sighed. He stuffed the screwdriver back into his coat pocket. "You're helpless at this stage, though," he reprimanded the TARDIS.

"Need refueling, don't you? Well, you could've at least parked us over a rift of some sort, but _nooo, _you just had to go all lippidy-too-ta on me, and bring me to – as far as I know it – the middle of nowhere in some universe I have no right to be in. Now just _sit_ there at the corner, and think what you've did wrong, little lady!"

Naturally, the TARDIS did not respond. _Might as well be unconscious, poor thing, _the Doctor mused. _Got to get it somewhere safe first… _

He massaged his palms against his temples. "But the real question is…" He strode purposely to the door and slowly eased it open. His head stuck out, and tentatively he muttered. "Where exactly am I…?"

His first thought was a dark alleyway, but that would just be too convenient. He shined his sonic screwdriver. Nope, he was in an abandoned circular subway tunnel of some sort.

This gave him his first idea. So he was on 'Earth'… Not too bad, perhaps, but what kind of 'Earth' would this one be like? There were gazillions of alternate universes out there, and he didn't want to be stuck on an Earth without spunk. Or time rifts, more importantly.

Well, at least it was Earth. He liked Earth. But he would have rather liked some people around too, instead of a dark, damp, creepy passageway.

Mere seconds after he imagined that, he could hear footsteps headed straight for his direction. Running footsteps. Frantic, running footsteps. Many other pairs of footsteps soon joined it, just as fast as the first one.

The Doctor chuckled to himself. "Seem to attract quite a bit of a crowd, don't I?" But he stopped laughing when he started to hear gunshots echoing off the walls.

"DON'T _SHOOT!" _cried a deep man's voice, ringing through the entire passageway as easy as the bullets. "The bullets will ricochet off the walls! Don't they teach you _anything_ in training!"

"You heard the man!" shouted another voice. "Just run! Don't let that thief escape!"

"Ah," the Doctor realized. "A crime, eh?"

Speaking softly amidst the loud yells bouncing off the dark tunnel's walls, the Doctor was fairly confident that so far he had gone unnoticed. This he verified when he, estimating the distance of the perpetrator by ear, stuck out a leg and tripped the fellow entirely. By the time he knew what hit him, the Doctor was already propped on his back, restraining his arms and legs with the efficiency of _years _of practice.

The ones who were chasing were quick to realize something had happened in the dark. Some of them were coming up with torches and flashlights.

"Bravo, bravo, someone caught the vile criminal!" exclaimed the deep voice. "Lestrade, whoever he is, give the man a raise! Well, except if it's Anderson."

"I heard that!"

"Ah, he's right behind me. Good, someone'll be getting a raise after all."

The police came up and swiftly took over, replacing the Doctor with someone else as weight, who quickly secured the man's wrists behind his back with handcuffs. Another man with a rat-like sort of face in a gray suit, who the Doctor determined as the person in charge under the dim yellow lights, helped him to his feet.

"You're not one of us?" he exclaimed with genuine surprise. He soon replaced that with a professional look, and clasped the Doctor's hand meaningfully. "Well, thanks a ton for your help. We would've never reclaimed the Queen's treasures without you."

"Well," the Doctor said with undisguised pride. "Always glad to serve the country."

One of the voices from before spoke up from the general direction of the TARDIS, where three people were flashing lights all around it. "Hey Detective Inspector, there's a weird piece of wood over here! I think it's a… it looks like a… I don't know, but it's _weird_!"

"It's a police box," the Doctor corrected crossly, not appreciating those who called his spaceship 'weird'. Twice.

The perpetrator was soon led away by a pair of policemen. As they passed, the Doctor was surprised to discover that the thief was actually a _woman, _not male. At the same time, the one who did the handcuffing joined them.

"I still have my suspicions about her," he reported to Lestrade, oblivious to the Doctor's presence. "Keep her in for questioning tomorrow – around three thirty, I'll drop in. And remember, _don't _let Anderson or Donovan accompany me. You know I can't stand them."

"I heard that!" cried an indignant woman voice, also near the TARDIS.

"God help me," Lestrade sighed. He put a hand on his forehead exasperatedly. "Remember what I said about cutting you enough slack as it is? If you cannot provide your own companion during questioning tomorrow, then the only people _I'd _be comfortable with assigning to you are either of the two of them. I'm _sorry_, but that's just something I'm not willing to change."

The other man groaned dramatically. As this was happening, the Doctor observed. This guy stood out much among the rest of the crime crew – tall, inches taller than the Doctor. He wore nothing like any police outfit he had seen, alien or human, – a long, dark coat and a blue scarf, wrapped heavily around his shoulders.

Meanwhile, Lestrade decided to properly introduce himself. "I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade," he told the Doctor. "In case you didn't know already – I pop in on telly time-to-time. This is my co-worker…"He drifted, not liking having to associate that term with the man. "Err, _occasional _consultant, I mean, Sherlock Holmes."

He smiled in a friendly manner, in generally good humor since someone caught the thief, and _not _because of a snobby schizophrenic.

The Doctor gaped. "'Sherlock'," he repeated. "_The _'Sherlock Holmes'!"

Lestrade stopped smiling. "Oh great," he said to Sherlock peevishly. "I suppose this is another one of your fans, isn't it?"

Sherlock, secretly delighted to find an admirer of his work, did well not to show it. He cleared his throat and also directed his attention to the TARDIS. "Quite a piece of work, that is," he said casually. "Though, if you haven't already noticed, Lestrade, the windows seem to be the wrong size, and by the look of that officer trying it out, the phone's just a dummy. Have you read my blog?" he added to the speechless Doctor.

"Detective Inspector, we can't get this thing open!" called one of the investigators helplessly.

"Well, try harder!" Lestrade retorted, just before he was interrupted.

"Brilliant!" the Doctor cried, flinging his hands to the air. "Now I see what happened – _this _is the impossibility in this universe! Who'd have guessed it! _Sherlock Holmes, _of all people! This is incredible, simply _marvelous – _I _must_ get your autograph before going back – Arty-Doyley would never believe me without it!"

He circled Sherlock non-stop as if he was a fascinating extinct species suddenly rediscovered. He even whipped out his glasses, his head excitedly bobbing up and down to examine from head to toe

"And Sherlock made _modern_! Look at you! Thin as ever – just as the books said you'd be – and a _giant_! Granted, your face isn't what I expected, but never _mind_ with that look in your eye! Haha, fantastic – coats and scarves instead of checkers and deerstalker hats! Tell me – do you have a Watson?"

"Oh great, another lunatic," Anderson groaned loudly, tapping the sides of the TARDIS in case there were hidden entry points.

Lestrade's thoughts went along the same words, but he felt an obligation to shield the one who saved them a night's work of chasing. "Focus, people." He joined his crew, rubbing his palms together, trying to look enthusiastic. "There must've been some reason she headed here – the end of the tunnel's blocked off."

The Doctor gleefully wheeled around and stretched out his arms as if to welcome a hug. "Oh, don't think I've forgotten about you, Detective Lestrade! Or, should I say, _Detective Inspector! _Blimey, you're looking pretty good – _better_, than what I imagined you in the books. You still bicker with Gregson?"

Lestrade stiffened, then pretended not to hear the man altogether. He gestured a hand to the TARDIS. "There may be other stolen artifacts hiding in there. Examine it closely. And if worse comes to worst, we may have to break the door down."

"Ah, no need to worry about that," the Doctor said suddenly, beaming back down to business. "The box's mine. No way affiliated with any crime lords, you'll be glad to know. With a different kind of lord, sure, but – "

"Who are you, anyway?" someone wondered out-loud. "Now that you mention it… You never did say your name, sir...?"

He grinned and casually shoved his hands into his long-coat pockets. "I'm the Doctor."

Almost everyone present just looked for a moment of so, expecting him to continue.

"Err…" someone said when he didn't, puzzled. "Doctor who?"

"Just 'the Doctor'," he replied cheerfully. "I'm sort of a traveler. No need to worry."

Meanwhile, Sherlock had gone over to inspect the TARDIS, shooing the crouching investigators out of his way.

"A 'traveler', lugging around him a tall, blue box," the woman voice from a while ago whined skeptically. She shone a light at his face. "Look pretty suspicious to me."

The Doctor flashed another grin, one of his 'charming' ones. He heard a sputter, and the light quickly evaded his head entirely. But his grin vanished when they asked him if he could unlock the door for them. He refused flat out. "There are a couple of things inside I would rather you guys not see," he explained seriously.

Lestrade closed his eyes for a moment, praying for patience. After counting to ten, he opened them again and said, "I'm _sorry_, Mr. Doctor, but you must open the doors. If you continue to refuse, we'll just have to confiscate it and issue a warrant."

"Just 'Doctor'," the Doctor corrected, the impatience finally getting to him. "Listen, I just _can't! _Even if you arrest me… Dang, how do I explain this…" He ruffled a hand through his hair and his brow furrowed. But minutes later and no reply, at the end Lestrade had to sigh again.

"Then we'll have to take you in."

"What?"

The DI motioned to two of his men, who quickly stepped up to follow. "Please hold out your hands, Doctor, so we can handcuff you. And don't try to resist – just walk briskly, and come with –"

"Me."

Sherlock straightened up, his coat billowing behind him, as cool as a cucumber. The Doctor, whose hand was halfway to his pocket to whip out his Psychic Paper, slowly lowered it to his side. Everyone else ganged up on Sherlock indignantly.

"Are you _crazy_?"

"This man could be dangerous, sir! And this can hinder the entire operation…"

"You can't just _boss _us around!"

"A-_hem." _Sherlock cleared his throat loudly, silencing all the noise around him. It was only when he could hear only them _breathing_, that he spoke again. "Well, now that I have everyone's full attention," he said brightly, then approached the Doctor. He held out his hand. "May I borrow your shoe?"

The Doctor, more accustomed to being the one doing to eccentric stuff, did not follow immediately. It was only when he heard someone mumbling grumpily about Sherlock and another one of his 'deductions' that he became all too eager to comply.

"Thank you," Sherlock replied promptly, turning it over to see the sole. He stretched it out towards Lestrade. "What do you see?"

A quick examination by the Detective Inspector proved fruitless, even when he turned it over to check the inside. "Just an old shoe," he replied, handing it back to the acclaimed fictional detective. "Red. Worn down. Bit of grime at the bottom. But that's it. Nothing special."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Gooood," he said, returning it to its owner. "Now, how about that police box over there? Bit dirty, isn't it?"

"N-No, sir," replied the investigator he had been questioning. "It's just the wear of the wood – it's actually quite in good shape." He wiped the sweat off his brow, nervous in front of the great detective. "Seems like it's regularly wiped down. Barely a trace of dirt on it."

The Doctor tossed his head proudly, his regular maintenance of the TARDIS finally getting noticed. Though, no one really paid him notice, even as he was hopping to get his shoe back on. All eyes, apprehensive or interested, were glued to the man with the deep voice.

"Now, how about some math?" Sherlock nodded at the box, addressing the DI once again. "How many men do you think it would take to get that to the police station?"

"Four or five, I suppose…" Lestrade replied. He was frowning. "Listen, Sherlock, I don't know where you're going with this."

Sherlock shook his head, smiling condescendingly, and clapped his black-gloved hands together. "I'm just getting to the main question, Detective Inspector. Now…" He brought his hands near his face as if he was pondering it himself. "How do you imagine that this man and that police box got all the way over here?" His eyes stared back, daring them to find an answer.

"It's been raining since yesterday afternoon, and the ground outside's still very wet. Muddy, in fact. But as you said, Detective Inspector, this man's shoes are relatively clean, while ours' are probably leaking with muck by now. The same goes with that box of his. _So why are they clean_?"

"Maybe they were already here before the rain started," Anderson suggested.

Sherlock didn't even look at him. "Don't be stupid, it isn't even funny – I checked here this morning, and there was no phone box, I assure you."

"You could be lying." Sally countered.

"He isn't," Lestrade said under bated breath. "I was with him. Actually, no, I was on video call. Sherlock thought this area was a possible rendezvous point, so did some scouting ahead. There was no box, no man."

"Wasn't that dangerous? They could've changed their plans if they saw you here," the Doctor pointed out. "You are _the great _Sherlock Holmes, after all."

Sherlock faltered as the Doctor just scored another brownie point. But a quick recovery later, he dismissed this easily with a flick of an arm. "Couldn't have. I was under disguise as a drunkard. No one would've been able to recognize me. Anyway, it doesn't matter now."

"So how could you get here without getting mud on your shoes?" another investigator chided in towards the Doctor.

The Doctor raised his hand, but Sherlock had stalked over to the TARDIS and interrupted before he could even say anything. "What if he was _carried?"_ He knocked his knuckles against the door, facing them mockingly.

Through this, another was able to carry the thought. "Carried inside _that _thing?"

"But… why would a group of people want to carry a guy inside a box all the way here?"

This time, Sherlock waited for someone else to give the explanation. Actually, the Doctor already had an inkling of what the man could be getting at, but he decided not to say anything. If he was wrong, then he could spoil the whole 'deduction' and land in even more trouble. Finally, something in what Sherlock said earlier sparked an idea in Lestrade's mind.

"Ah, I see," he groaned, and threw a look at the Doctor. And in that look he could see that any love the DI had for him for catching the perpetrator was lost now that Sherlock had made him a cause for deduction. "You were drunk, and your mates figured to play a prank on you, eh? You could've told us that in the first place."

He paused, just in case. Sherlock didn't add anything. The Doctor supposed that was what he had been aiming at. So he just shrugged and waited for what else could happen.

It wasn't long before Lestrade was grumbling and shooing them out of the subway tunnel itself.

"Fine, you're free to go wherever you want, but for now we're keeping your box in custody," Sally told them as their escort. There was no denying she was quite taken by the Doctor, and she wasn't passing on a chance to actually get to _talk _to him, albeit for a short while. Sure, the 'freak' was there as well, but he could be ignored if she tried hard enough. "Sorry about that." She smiled and batted her eyelashes.

Sherlock sniffed the air as they stepped out to the muddy ground and the foggy London night. "Is that men's perfume?" His eyes automatically trained themselves on Sally.

She scowled, then abandoning her plans she quickly said goodbye and disappeared back into the tunnel.

Then… they just stood there. Two fully grown men, one a nine hundred year old Timelord without his time machine, and the other a supposedly brilliant fictional detective, capable of solving any case anyone could throw at him. Neither of them realized that the other was silent because that person was at a complete loss of words.

"Well now," Sherlock finally said, his breath coming out in white puffs in the cold air. He turned to the Doctor and held out his hand. "Nice to meet you… Doctor, right?"

The Doctor took the hand and shook. "Likewise… You know I know who you are."

It was difficult for the Doctor to look him in the eye, for the night cast shadows throughout the area, and the lampposts were too far to see each other properly. But for just one second, as they released hands and Sherlock spoke, the image of a clever smirk flashed in the Doctor's mind.

"And yet, you have yet to know that I know who you are. Makes sort of a tongue-twister, doesn't it? Anyway, you'll need a place to stay tonight, correct?"

* * *

By the way, this fanfic is dedicated to my friend D, who has been supplying me with Doctor Who episodes when I needed cheering up… Funny thing is, though, she had no idea I needed cheering up. HAHAHA, she pretty much was nice to me for no apparent reason, and for that I love her. XDDD (Oh, and this is also dedicated to K and Z because they'll kill me if I don't mention them)

Summer's coming up, but that means I'm in the middle of our Final Exams Week. Haha, I'd appreciate it if you RxR! Thanks!


End file.
